


New Wine

by K_Hanna_Korossy



Category: The Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 12:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5785882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Hanna_Korossy/pseuds/K_Hanna_Korossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter needs his friends, but by the time they realize it, things have gone from bad to dangerous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Wine

 

First appeared in _Just the Four of Us 1_ (1998)

For Sheila, who introduced me to the guys

 

_"Forsake not an old friend, for the new is not comparable to him. A new friend is as new wine; when it is old, thou will drink it with pleasure."                                    - Sirach_

 

"Good evening, Dr. Venkman."

Gabrielle's words were as chilly as the winter air as she gave Peter Venkman a last disdainful look and turned on her heels to enter her apartment.

Peter stared after her in surprise, not even thinking of a response until the door slammed in his face. He had been a little preoccupied during their date, true, but he didn't think it was enough to deserve this reaction. Of course, forgetting her birthday might've been a part of it, too. "Nice going, Venkman," he muttered to himself. Well, that was that. The perfect end to a rotten day.

He reluctantly turned from the door and trudged away, back towards home. Home. Even the thought of the firehouse and its three other occupants didn't give Peter the pleasant rush it usually did. It seemed like his wherever he went that day, he was met by rejection.

*****

"Hey, Egon!" Peter's voice held a note of bright pleasure he knew the physicist could discern without difficulty. He waited for the blond head to rise from the microscope and warily take the bait.

"Not now, Peter." Egon didn't budge. Apparently, he didn't feel like playing.

Peter wasn't so easy to dissuade, though. "Aw, c'mon, Egon, I just wanted—"

"Later." More firmly.

"But—"

"Peter." The blond head finally came up and serious blue eyes stared him down. "Ray and I are running a series of important tests that cannot be interrupted. Whatever game you're playing, it can wait." The head bobbed back down again.

Peter stared at his friend for a moment, nonplussed by the level tone. Though Egon could usually tell when something was important to Peter even if he was making light of if it, this time Peter hadn't been playing. Egon was apparently too busy to notice now, however. "Yeah, okay," Peter finally mumbled and, shoving his free hand into his pocket, turned and left the room. He didn't see Spengler look up and frown at his retreating back for a long minute before reluctantly returning to work.

Ray was next on his list, and Peter's step regained its jauntiness as he headed down into the basement workshop. Ray would probably appreciate this more, anyway. He couldn't help but smile as the eagerly bouncing figure came into view. Ray seemed as involved as Egon in whatever it was they were working on, but while Egon's enthusiasm showed itself in rapt concentration, Ray's was unbounded excitement. He couldn't seem to contain his pleasure as he circled the machine on his workbench.

"Ray?"

Stantz glanced up at him with a ready smile. "Hi, Peter. I can't talk now, Egon and I are doing this neat experiment. Wait'll you see the results we're getting!" With another quick grin, he went back to work.

"I just wanted to show you something, Ray. It'll only take a minute..." Peter began hopefully.

"Aw, gee, Peter, I'm really busy. Can I look at it later?" Ray's voice was a mixture of guilt and apology as he studied his friend.

Peter forced a smile and stuck the magazine he'd been holding behind his back. "Sure. Later." He began to move toward the stairs.

"Peter—"

The concerned query stopped Peter and elicited a real smile. "S'okay, Ray. You better get back to your work or I'll tell Egon on you."

Ray smiled again, contented, and obeyed. Peter left in search of Winston.

He found his third partner just where he expected, in the garage. Zeddemore was visible only from the waist down, his chest and head deep under Ecto's body.

"Hey, Zed, what's up?" Peter crouched next to his headless friend and tried to peer under the car.

"Hey, Pete. Just trying to get this knock out of Ecto's engine. I've been meaning to do it all week before we break down in the middle of nowhere one night."

Peter hesitated. Winston was obviously busy, but the psychologist was ready to burst at the seams.

"You got a minute, Winston? I wanna show you something," he tried.

"I'll be done in about an hour, Pete, that good enough?"

Peter's heart sank. "No problem," he answered evenly.

If Winston had been looking at his friend he would've seen the lie for what it was, but the answer sounded good. "Thanks," he wiggled his foot.

Peter retreated to his office and shut the door. Even Janine looked busy, but pride had kicked in and he wouldn't ask now. He dropped into his chair and propped his feet up on the desk, gazing mournfully at the magazine he held in his hand. The issue of the _New England Journal of Medicine_ with an article by Dr. Peter Venkman on "The Effect of Acceptance on Anxiety Levels Preceding Death."

"Some achievement, Dr. Venkman," he muttered to himself. "Can't even show it off." Peter never much advertised his expertise, but he knew he was good at what he did and the occasional acknowledgements secretly delighted him. He hadn't thought his article would be printed, but it was an honor he had been proud of. Until now. It was really hard to enjoy something he couldn't share.

Venkman shook himself. Well, there was no point in feeling sorry for himself. Maybe Gabrielle would be impressed by the article. Allowing himself a last sigh of disappointment, he shrugged it off and went to get dressed.

*****

Gabrielle hadn't been impressed. In fact, his being late a half-hour after fighting the unusually bad traffic, then forgetting her birthday had pretty much trashed the evening. Nor had Peter's lingering deflated mood helped. After an icy dinner, he knew a lost cause when he saw one and had finally brought her home. Not even getting a good-bye kiss at the door had confirmed the worst–he had major making up to do. Flowers and a gift at the least. He was tired just thinking about it.

Actually, he was just plain tired. The last few weeks of busting had almost made him wish he was back teaching, and while he'd kept everyone in the team up and running, he himself was running down. It was Egon who usually noticed when Peter was beginning to struggle and who got him through it, but Egon and Ray had been busy lately with their mysterious experiment. Peter was beginning to feel very alone and he _hated_ that. Maybe he should just–

"Hey, buddy. Hold it right there."

The thick Brooklyn accented voice cut through Peter's thoughts just as he felt something poke his back. Something suspiciously like a gun barrel. Peter froze. "Is this the part where you say 'your money or your life'?" he asked warily, not turning.

A dry laugh. "Very good. What's it gonna be?"

Peter swallowed. "I think I'll take door number three," he quipped.

His back was jabbed hard, nearly pushing off balance. "You bein' smart?" the voice sneered.

"No, actually, I don't feel very smart right now," Peter said, slowly reaching into his pocket. Despite the cold night air, sweat beaded his lip. Pulling the wallet out with deliberate care, he passed it back over his shoulder. "Not much there, fella, but it's all yours."

"Good boy," the voice said, then, "Pleasant dreams."

Before Peter had any chance to react, the gun pulled away and then his head exploded into fireworks. He was already unconscious by the time he hit the ground, nor was he aware when a shove sent his body into the shadows of a nearby alley. Peter no longer knew anything at all.

*****

"Dinner!" bawled Winston as he set the bowl of spaghetti on the table.

"FOOOODD!" A splat from above announced Slimer's arrival and he hung eagerly by Winston's shoulder, eyeing the table.

Winston stepped between the defenseless spaghetti and the hungry ghost. "Not yet, Slimer. Call the guys to dinner, okay?"

"Okay, Winston," Smiler bobbed agreeably, then sailed through the nearest wall happily calling, "Ray, Peter, Egon, foooodd!"

Shaking his head, Winston finished setting the table as, first Ray, then Egon appeared, both tinkering distractedly with bits of machinery. Winston shook his head again. Sometimes he doubted anyone but he and Peter would ever eat without prodding. "Guys," he said reasonably, "you think you could stow the science stuff 'til after dinner?"

Egon looked up and Ray colored. "Winston, we are in the middle of an extremely complicated experiment on the–" the blond began.

"Whoa, I don't think I want to know," Winston held up a hand to forestall the explanation he knew he'd never understand. "You think you can spare a few minutes for dinner, though?"

"Actually, I believe this is a good point to stop for now, don't you, Ray?" Egon put his gadget down on the counter.

"I think so," Ray nodded brightly. "The newest run needs time to cycle, anyway."

"No Peter," Slimer suddenly reappeared in the doorway. "Peter gone," he added mournfully.

"Gone," Egon blinked.

"I think he was going out with Gabrielle tonight," Winston grinned knowingly. Then suddenly snapped his fingers, a flash of annoyed remembrance crossing his face. "Shoot, he wanted to show me something really bad first. I forgot all about it."

Ray winced. "I think he tried to show me the same thing. I was busy recalibrating the inverter and I told him I couldn't." He looked guiltily at Egon.

Egon was also frowning. "He asked me, also. I thought he was teasing and I told him to wait." He pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Apparently, it was important."

"Poor Peter," Ray said sympathetically.

"Well, whatever it is, we can take a look at it when he gets back," Winston said. "We'll make it up to him."

"Of course," Egon instantly agreed, more for Ray and Winston's sake than anything. "Peter's not a child and he can certainly afford to wait a little while." As he watched Ray unhappily nod assent, he didn't add that while Peter was no child, the remnants of a lonely child remained buried inside him. The physicist sighed to himself. Well, if they truly had hurt Peter's feelings, they would make it up to him when he came back. And, in the long run, Peter knew how important he was to his friends. With that reassurance, Egon pushed the troubling thoughts away and sat down to eat.

*****

Even New York City was not immune to the magic of dawn. Shadows of black lightened to a uniform, dull gray, then suddenly we're touched with pink and gold. The smog in the air made the sunrise diffuse into broad bands of color, and, for a moment, there was perfect peace.

Peter stirred and groaned. Oblivious to the arriving day, all he knew was that he hurt and he was _cold_. Not kicked-off-the-covers chilly, but cold to his bones. He felt the shivers from deep inside go through his whole body, and that made his head feel like it was about to split open. With another groan, he rolled over and threw up.

As he lay back, panting, the throbbing died down enough that he could cautiously look around to see where he was. Flat on the ground, it seemed, with high walls rising on both sides. The rank odor of garbage and human waste permeated the air, making his queasy stomach lurch again. An alley. Well, that was a start. He had a vague recollection of waking there at least once in the night before immediately falling back into sleep. There certainly seemed to be no point in sticking around now, though.

Carefully, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, closing his eyes against the dizziness and nausea. _Either it was one_ heck _of a party, or something's seriously wrong here._

When the world settled a little, he eased himself up to fully vertical. It increased the volume of the banging in his head by several decibels, but he ignored it. Wherever he was, it was _not_ fun and he just wanted to go home and curl up in bed...

_Home?_ The fleeting warmth of that thought gave him pause. He hadn't used that word in a long time. With his father never around and Peter and his mother moving every year or so, home had come to mean only wherever his mother was. But now that he was in college... Dorm life was fun, but it wasn't _home_. There were no loved ones there.

Still, it beat an alley, and his condition might even earn him some sympathy from the beautiful brunette cheerleader he'd been trying to court. He'd just call Jack or Steve and ask them to pick him up.

Dizzily, he fumbled in his pocket and came up with two dimes and a nickel. Enough for two calls. Stealing himself, he shuffled out of the alley opening and, spying a phone booth down the street, made his way toward it.

It being New York, everyone on the street ignored him even though Venkman was dimly aware that he had to be a mess. Not that it mattered; all he cared about now was getting someplace warm and with a bed. Even without the brunette.

He finally made it to the phone booth, leaning gratefully against the door for a second until he was steadier. Then he opened the door and went in, tiredly jamming a dime into the phone as he picked up the receiver. Nothing. Peter squinted at the phone, trying to see the writing that kept going fuzzy or double on him, but it looked like it said .25¢. _A whole quarter? What kind of phone is this!_ But he was too tired to worry about it. Peter stuck the rest of the change in and paused. Funny, he knew the frat house number and yet his fingers wanted to dial something else. He gave a mental shrug. Probably an old girlfriend. He dialed the dorm.

The voice that answered was completely unfamiliar. "Yeah?"

Who would be answering the phone but one of the guys? "Who is this?" Peter asked.

"Jamal. Who's this?" the voice coolly asked back.

_Jamal?_ He couldn't remember a Jamal, and it was a pretty unusual name. "It's me, Peter. Is Steve there?"

Jamal was beginning to sound annoyed. _"We haven't got anyone here named Steve, and I don't know a Peter. You sure you got the right number, buddy?"_

"This is Tri Cuppa Brew, isn't it? I'm Peter Venkman. Everybody knows me." Peter knew his voice was beginning to sound desperate, but he was beginning to feel desperate.

_"Well, I don't know you, and we don't go by that anymore, got it?"_ Click. The line went dead.

Peter stared at the phone. What was this, some kind of prank? He groaned. That had to be it. _Probably Jack's idea, too._ It was too bad Peter was in no shape to appreciate it. _Just wait 'til I get you back for this one, buddy._

Venkman sighed and stared forlornly at the receiver in his hand. Now what? He had no one in this world except for his pals at school and his mom and...

He frowned. Just for a moment, it had felt like there was something important he was forgetting, maybe even someone. But he couldn't think of it again and trying to concentrate made his head hurt worse.

Well, hey, it didn't matter. He had everything he could want: popularity, women, friends–well, buddies, anyway. He was happy. There was absolutely no excuse for the empty feeling he suddenly felt deep inside.

Peter shrugged it off and reached for the phone again. Dialing the operator, he asked to place a collect call, dutifully reciting his name and his mother's number. Then he sighed and rested his forehead against the phone booth wall to wait.

_"I'm sorry, sir, the number you requested has been disconnected."_ The operator's apologetic tone did nothing to ease the shock of her words.

Peter straightened at once, ignoring the increase of pain the movement caused. "What?! Since when?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I don't know."

"Please could you just try it again? 555-7263."

There was a pause, then, "I'm sorry, sir–"

"Okay," Peter interrupted, "how about her name? Margaret Venkman. Can you find a listing for her?" Maybe she'd had to move again without telling him? His heart thudded loudly while he waited.

_"No, sir, I'm sorry, I can't find anyone by that name listed..."_

Peter's world began to tilt. Numbly he hung up the phone and stood staring beyond it at the city around him, really noticing it for the first time. A car drove by, a kind he hadn't ever seen before. It looked...too new. A computer store on the corner flashed advertisements for things he'd never heard of. People's clothing looked different, too, somehow off.

His hands began to shake.

Peter suddenly began to fumble in his pockets, looking for his wallet, some proof that he still existed and was who he thought he was. He came up empty. Nothing anywhere except for a crumpled piece of paper in one coat pocket. Unsteadily, he unfolded it and smoothed it out, recognizing at once that it was a receipt for something. Then he saw the date on the top. January 18, 1994. _What the...?_ 1994\. _But that means..._ He'd lost over 15 years. _'S not possible. Just a prank. I wanna go_ home _!_ The receipt dropped out of his hand unnoticed onto the floor of the booth.

Peter stumbled out onto the street, fighting the urge to get sick again, bumping blindly into people, walking he wasn't sure where. _This isn't happening. Please..._ Strange faces all around him, and he had no one, literally alone. Peter Venkman couldn't ever recall feeling so terribly alone.

Adrenalin and terror overcoming his throbbing head and fatigue, he went on. He'd go crazy if he didn't.

*****

The first sight to meet Egon's eyes as he opened them was of Peter's neatly made bed. Frowning, he fumbled for his glasses and sat up, looking over at Ray, who was also just getting up. "Peter didn't come home last night."

Ray glanced over in surprise at the empty bed and his initial smile faded. "You think he stayed out with Gabrielle?" he ventured.

"Probably. But he should have called. We have a bust scheduled this morning." Egon stiffly got out of bed and began to straighten the covers.

"Egon...you don't think he's upset at us because of yesterday, do you?" Ray's timid voice came from behind him.

Egon turned and raised an eyebrow at him. "And stayed out all night as punishment? I doubt it, that hardly seems like Peter's style. He never passes up a chance to pout for an audience." That prompted a smile from Ray. Egon paused. "Still, it wouldn't hurt to check with Gabrielle–"

"I'm way of ahead of you, man," Winston spoke up from the doorway. His somber tone caused both scientists to turn at once to look at him. "Just got off the phone with her," Zeddemore continued. "She and Pete had a fight and he left her place about nine o'clock last night."

Silence.

Egon was the first to speak, his voice suddenly very even. "Winston, I think you'd better start calling hospitals. Ask Janine to cancel our appointment this morning. Ray and I will begin looking around Gabrielle's." Winston nodded grimly and walked out the door, but Ray stood staring at the physicist. Two long steps took Egon close enough to touch the younger man's arm. "We'll find him, Ray. And then we'll wring his neck for making us worry for nothing."

Ray smiled thinly at him, nodding an agreement neither of them wholly believed. Then they both hurried off to get ready.

*****

Peter had no idea how long he walked or where. Some things seemed familiar, but the whole atmosphere was different, alien, leaving him isolated and scared, a vulnerability he wasn't used to feeling. Being alone had always been his deepest fear; it was, in part, why he always surrounded himself with people and loved being the center of attention. Now there was no one to turn to. No one...

In the middle of dark despair, something caught. A face, indistinct, a flash of blue and gold. Someone he felt he should know. It was important...but too distant. Trying to retrieve it made him feel dizzy just as any attempt at clear thought did. It slipped through his fingers, making him shiver with misery. If only his head would stop throbbing, maybe he could figure it all out, or at least what to do next. He stumbled on automatically instead.

 

The phone rang and Winston leapt for it, beating Janine. "Ghostbusters!" He listened for a long minute, and Janine watched his eyes cloud and mouth tighten. "Did he say anything?" Zeddemore asked tersely. The answer obviously didn't please him. Janine's heart began to pound. "I'll be down for it soon," he finally said, hanging up the phone.

"What?!" the secretary burst out when no explanation seemed forthcoming.

"That was the police," Winston said gravely. "They caught a mugger with a gun and found Pete's wallet on him. He won't talk, though." He jumped up, reaching for his jacket. "I'm going down to the precinct house. Tell Egon and Ray, okay?" At Janine's shaky agreement, he abruptly stopped to look at her, face softening. "He'll be okay, girl, don't you worry."

Janine gave him a strained smile and reached for the phone as he left.

*****

No matter how much he wanted, how much his last bit of stubbornness rebelled, Peter no longer had the strength to keep going. Dusk had come and gone and darkness hid the worst of the unfamiliar environment, but it also heightened his aloneness. He didn't know where to go. No one knew him at school anymore, his mother was gone God-knew-where. Nor could he seem to think coherently enough to figure out what to do. He wasn't in his time and had no one in this world. Not that he was looking for a _friend_ ; life had taught him a long time ago that no one could be trusted that far. But at this point, he'd settle for anyone who knew him, enemy or ally. _I wanna go home..._

A small park was up ahead, and he used the last of his determination to drag himself to it and drop on a bench, curling up disconsolately in one corner. The little bit of warmth the air had gleaned from the sun during the day was gone now, and he shivered in the frosty air, trying uselessly to huddle into his coat. His head continued to pound mercilessly , making his stomach do nasty things. He'd already had to stop once more to give into the nausea, and it hadn't helped the dizziness much. Even the small, pleading voice from deep inside had disappeared. Peter was lost.

"Hey, mister!"

The words didn't connect at first–were they talking to him?  


"Hey! You!"

_Wha–?_ Peter slowly raised his head and blinked blankly at the man in uniform standing in front of him. "Me?" His voice was raspy.

"Yeah, you okay?"

Peter just stared at him.

The policeman leaned closer. "You don't look so good, sir. You got somewhere to go?"

Venkman shivered. "I dunno."

The policeman digested that. There were too many homeless in the city for police to do much with them, but they didn't usually wear such nice clothes. This stranger had an unusual air of lost hopelessness to him, but the cop was willing to bet he wasn't always so. And then there was the matter of the uneven pupils in the green eyes.

"You got any ID, sir?"

"No." Flat.

"What's your name."

"Peter Venkman." His voice faltered at that. At least that was sure, wasn't it?

"Venkman?" the cop squinted at him in surprise.

"Yeah. 'M famous," Peter murmured, his mind beginning to wander. He didn't even protest when the cop motioned over his partner and the two of them got Peter up and into the patrol car, or when they pulled up at the hospital.

*****

The mood around the kitchen table was sober as its three occupants huddled together to wait and draw support from each other. With little to go on and the police already looking for Peter, Ray and Egon had reluctantly returned to the firehall to wait for news. Janine, too, had finally been coaxed into going home after being promised a call at any news. With Venkman's absence, Egon had taken over the role of looking after Ray, sitting close to the occultist with a hand resting on the younger man's arm. Winston, in turn, watched carefully over Egon, ready in case the stoicism should crack or, even more so, in case it didn't. Egon had a way of damming up his flooding emotions until he nearly drowned in them. Winston wasn't as skilled as Peter in knowing when that release was needed, but he was no less determined. As for himself, well, he'd deal with it later.

"I wish I knew what he wanted to show us so bad," Ray quietly spoke up.

Egon's hand tightened on his arm. "We'll just have to wait and ask him," he said gently.

"But he's been out there nearly twenty-four hours! He could be lying somewhere hurt, or...or..." Ray bit his lip.

Winston saw in Egon's face that the physicist had also done the math, and quickly spoke up. "Hey," he chided gently, "we don't know anything yet, right? Why don't we give the police a chance to–"

The phone rang. Everyone froze, then Winston broke the spell, lunging for it. "Yeah?" Two anxious faces watched him. "Yeah," he repeated. Then, "How bad?" Ray didn't seem to notice as Egon's fingers went white from clutching his arm. "Uh-huh," Winston said, then finally, "Thanks. We're on our way." He clunked the phone down, looking both of his friends in the eye. "Cops say they picked up someone they think is Pete from Washington Square Park, and he's at St. Vincent's now."

"Is he okay?" Ray squeaked.

"They're not sure yet," Winston answered solemnly, "but looks like he might have a concussion."

Egon closed his eyes in relief. "He must have been knocked out, not shot," he said hoarsely. Then, suddenly connecting, opened his eyes and stared at Winston. "Washington Square Park. That's on the way here from Gabrielle's. He was trying to come home." Winston simply nodded. Egon was instantly on his feet. "Let's go."

His friends needed no invitation.

*****

Rush hour traffic was thankfully over and the hospital wasn't far, but it still took too long to arrive. Even once there, they were sent from station to station to try to find word of their friend. Finally, they were directed to a waiting room and the doctor arrived soon after to see them.

Winston's first thought at seeing her was that Peter would've been instantly in love. Long, chestnut hair was done up in a bun and intelligent eyes nearly as vibrant green as Peter's looked them over with authority and compassion. Her delicate face was sober, though, as she approached the three men.

"You are the Ghostbusters, I believe?"

Egon nodded. "Yes. The police called and said Peter Venkman was here?"

The woman shifted, studying them. Her voice gentled a degree. "Actually, we were hoping you could tell us for sure. He matches the description and he claims to be Peter Venkman..."

"He's awake!" Ray burst in excitedly.

Winston had been watching the doctor's face and could see it wasn't as simple as that. "But..." he prompted.

She turned to him. "...he's very confused. He's been conscious since he got here, but he received a sizeable blow to the head, possibly as long ago as last night. He also seems unsure as to what year it is or where he lives. Since he didn't have any ID, we thought we'd wait for you to positively identify him."

The three exchanged glances. Didn't know what _year_ it was? Egon finally spoke up stiffly. "Can we see him now?"

"Of course," the doctor motioned to them. "This way."

Down one long hall and then another. The doctor turned to Egon, determinedly in the lead, and said with a grin, "He wouldn't put on a gown or lie down even though he's dead on his feet. He's rather stubborn."

Winston laughed shakily. "Sure sounds like our Pete." None of them were willing to think anything else.

"Right over here," the doctor motioned them to a door with a window, and Egon stepped up to peer inside. Winston saw his back go a little straighter.

"It's Peter," he said shortly, already moving to go in.

"Hold on a minute," the considerably shorter woman stepped in front of the tall physicist to block his way. "There're a few things we have to talk about first."

"He _is_ okay?" Ray spoke up timidly.

The doctor tilted her head. "Physically, he's mildly concussed. Not okay, but hardly life threatening. We'd keep him overnight for observation and then send him home for rest." She frowned. "The amnesia is a possible symptom of a concussion, though it worries me he's lost so much time. Chances are it'll come back eventually with recovery and a return to familiar surroundings, so I suggest you take Mr. Venkman–"

"–Dr.," Egon automatically corrected.

The woman's eyebrows rose. "He didn't mention that. But as I was saying, we'd normally keep him overnight but the x-rays and CAT Scan came up fine, the injury _is_ an older one, and he's fully aware and talking, so I suggest you take Dr. Venkman home now and keep an eye on him. The sooner he's exposed to his present life, the better. Just remember that he's lost a lot of time here, possibly years, and there may be quite a bit he won't remember."

The three digested that, worry creasing Ray and Winston's face and glittering in Egon's eyes. Then, as if by silent consent, the partners glanced at each other, braced themselves, and opened the door.

Peter sat huddled on the edge of the bed, his slacks and socks still on and a blanket thrown over his bare shoulders. His face was colorless and highlighted the green eyes enormous with shock. But what Winston realized at once and saw the others immediately notice, too, was the air of forlornness surrounding the figure. He looked as though he had no one left in the world.

At the sound of the door, Peter looked up, hope momentarily bright in his eyes. It faded away almost at once at the sight of the three men. "Who are you?" he asked wearily, slumping once more.

"Peter, we were very worried about you," Egon began in relief, then abruptly stopped. He approached the lone figure more slowly, Winston and Ray a half-step behind him. "You don't know who we are?" he asked carefully.

Peter squinted at him blurrily, obviously having trouble focusing. Egon began to reach out, caught himself, dropped his hand again. The green eyes went from his face to Ray's, then Winston's before returning to study Egon once more. Venkman frowned. "You teach at Columbia? Think I've seen you around. I'm not sure." His gaze sharpened with visible effort. "Do I know you?"

"Oh, Peter! It's us, Egon and Winston and me. Don't you remember? We're the Ghostbusters!" Ray's enthusiastic outburst was dampened with worry.

As Peter stared at the younger man, Winston realized abruptly how shuttered his eyes were. Even hurting and half-out, there was an unwavering wariness to Peter that he had never seen before. The set of Egon's shoulders, however, told him that the physicist recognized it and that it wasn't good news. And even with the closed expression, Winston knew Venkman well enough to see the pain and fear that hid in the green eyes.

"Ghostbusters?" Peter repeated doubtfully. "You believe in ghosts? What's next, little green men from Mars?" his voice tapered off, too tired to inject much flippancy into the words.

Ray's face fell and Egon immediately spoke up. "Peter, do you know what year it is?"

Peter frowned at him suspiciously, his guard visibly rising. It did nothing to hide the anxiety that flashed through his eyes, not from those who knew him too well. "Why?" he asked defiantly, trying to draw himself straighter and looking sick from the effort. Never admit vulnerability, Winston identified the attitude in his mind. He was beginning to get the idea that the stranger he was seeing in front of him was one that was familiar to Egon and Ray from their college days, before Winston had met him, outwardly cheerful and flip but hurting, uncertain, and lonely inside. He could see Ray coming the same realization, compassion and concern filling the younger man's face.

Egon moved a little closer to Peter, drawing his attention. Peter was having increasing trouble concentrating and staying upright, and Egon lowered his voice soothingly in response. "Peter, it's 1994. You graduated from Columbia almost ten years ago with doctorates in psychology and parapsychology, and you've been our partner ever since, one of the Ghostbusters. This is Ray, and Winston, and I'm Egon. We're your friends. Do you have any memory of that at all?"

Peter stared at him with wide eyes. "Friends?" he said faintly, the I-don't-need-anybody attitude dissipating all at once.

"Good friends," Egon firmly answered.

Peter stared at him a moment longer, then his eyes lost their focus and he seemed to collapse inward, the ordeal of the past twenty-four hours and his bewilderment and utter exhaustion refusing to make sense of things any longer. He sagged, looking like he might slide right off the bed, and Egon and Ray jumped forward at the same time to steady him. With a sigh, Peter closed his eyes and instinctively leaned against the nearest object–Egon's shoulder. The physicist motioned to Winston to call the doctor before carefully sliding an arm around the oblivious psychologist's shoulder. "It's okay, Peter," he said quietly. "We're going home now."

*****

The doctor had been quickly summoned but upon entering the room, she stopped and smiled at the sight of Peter dozing against Egon. All she'd said was, "Good, he's resting."

"Can we still take him home?" Ray asked worriedly. "He just kinda... collapsed. I don't think he knows who we are, either."

She stepped up to Peter and checked his vitals before answering. "It's just finally catching up to him. He's stable and we can't do much here for Dr. Venkman that you can't do at home, and I'd really rather he wake up in his own bed, in his own room. He certainly seems to trust you, even if subconsciously." She frowned at Egon. "But if this is a problem, we can always keep–"

Ray opened his mouth to protest but Egon cut in first. "No, of course not, we'll make sure someone's with him at all times."

She smiled at all three of them again. "That'll only be necessary overnight. He should still be checked out by his own doctor soon, but if he's shown no signs of complications, all he'll need is rest and time. And your patience and support," she added meaningfully.

The chorus of affirmatives was hardly necessary; the determination in each man's face was quite clear. She'd written out a prescription for painkillers for inevitable lingering headaches as he got better, then went off to find them a wheelchair.

And so they had taken Peter home, the psychologist sleeping through the whole trip, rousing only to murmur a vague complaint when three pairs of hands carefully got him up the stairs and into bed. Then he was out again.

*****

It was left to Ray to get Peter somewhat cleaned up and settled while Egon went to make the necessary phone calls and Winston contrived to fix them a late meal. Stantz set to his task with characteristic gentleness but still made quick work of getting the patient changed and a little cleaner. His work done, he pulled up a chair beside Venkman's bed and sat watching the still-pale face of his friend.

"Oh, Peter, please be all right," he whispered, awkwardly patting the mussed brown hair into some semblance of Peter's usual hairstyle. Although he didn't much think about it, Ray could understand the injuries and dangers that came with their job and had long come to terms with, if not the potential loss of his friends, at least the danger to himself. But something like this, a random attack due only to the callousness of a fellow human being, made no sense to him at all. Why Peter?

Remembering the look in Peter's eyes in the hospital increased Ray's sorrow. Ray himself had been a different person back in school, painfully shy and insecure. It had been first Egon and Peter's encouragement, then their friendship that had helped him begin to believe in himself. But even despite his withdrawnness then, Ray could still recall sensing similar loneliness and hurt in young Peter Venkman, especially as he'd gotten to know the psychology student. It was only much later that Ray had learned the whys of Peter's behavior, and then had come to see the changes that he himself had helped bring about in his friend. And now with all that gone and the mistrust and hurt back in those expressive green eyes....

A hand descended on his shoulder, startling him. "We'll get him back, Ray, I promise you," Egon's deep voice sounded behind him. "Even if we have to start all over again, we will."

"But he doesn't have anybody now, Egon," Ray protested. "He doesn't think he has any friends."

Egon's hand rubbed his shoulder. "Then we'll just have to show him," was the quiet reply.

"Darn right." Winston's determinedly cheerful voice broke the dispirited mood. They turned toward the door and Egon hurried forward to help the black man with the two trays of food he was precariously balancing. "Thanks, man. Thought if Pete couldn't come down to join us, we could come join him up here."

Ray beamed at him with appreciation and even Egon managed a real smile. Soon they were busy dishing food and eating, speaking in soft tones as they sat together near the bed and cast frequent glances at their fourth, silent partner. The companionship helped relieve some of each man's anxiety, but none of them could have later recalled what they ate that night even if their life depended on it.

*****

The room was quiet and dark except for the small circle of light cast by the reading lamp by Peter's bed. They had decided to take turns staying with Peter, and so while the other two tried to get some sleep, Winston sat next to the bed by himself and watched over his friend by the meager light.

Of his three partners, Peter was always the one who had mystified Winston the most. It hadn't taken long to see the deep feelings and good humor behind Egon's obvious intelligence, and while Winston couldn't understand the source of Ray's eternal optimism, there wasn't much hidden about the younger man, not even the incredible talent he bashfully brushed off. But Peter had been more complicated. The younger man was the most like Winston in street savvy and practicality, and at the same time he understood people and their foibles better than Winston could despite all his experience. The paradox of the vain, often outrageous ladies man who was also a skilled psychologist and a sensitive friend sometimes puzzled Winston even after he'd been invited to share in the act. But in time, he'd learned to read his friend and understand the painful past that was buried deep beneath all the bravado. To see that past unearthed once more was sobering. And Winston mourned for his lost friend.

The person in question sighed and shifted in bed, mumbling something under his breath. Winston could hear Egon stir in the bed behind him in subliminal response to Peter, but neither woke. In fact, Peter hadn't been fully conscious since the hospital, although he'd obediently stated his name and taken care of necessities when they roused him periodically. He hadn't noticed his environment yet, either, and Zeddemore couldn't help wondering what would happen when he did start waking up. Would it all come back? Or would they have to start all over to get back the Peter they all knew? And, he sighed to himself, what would it do to Egon and Ray if they did? He wasn't sure he wanted to consider that possibility.

As he'd already done several times that night, Winston discouragedly bowed his head and prayed.

*****

Egon read the line in the journal for the eighteenth time, berating himself for his lack of concentration. It was no good. Despite his best efforts and the illogic of worrying, he could not focus on the article. With a suppressed sigh, he put it down next to his chair.

The dim light had made it hard to read, anyway. It was nearly noon, but the shades were drawn in the bedroom and Winston snored softly behind him as Peter lay quiet in the bed beside him. Ray would've been hovering, too, if Egon hadn't finally asked him to do some equipment maintenance in order to keep him busy. Of the three of them, Ray was having the hardest time dealing with Peter's condition.

At least visibly. Stuffed far down where even Ray wasn't allowed to see, Egon was utterly lost.

The reaction didn't make sense, he tried to tell himself. Peter was physically safe and mending. He wasn't brain damaged, nor had he lost his identity. He was still _Peter_ , even the Peter Egon had once known. But so much had happened since then. The two of them had grown up together, brought out the best in each other, helped each other find joy in life, molded their lives to fit with the others until Egon couldn't conceive of his life without his friend. And now to start that over... He wasn't even certain Peter would be willing to try it a second time.

Spengler took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Emotional outbursts wouldn't help anyone right now. He'd meant what he'd said to Ray; if they had to, they would start over again. Peter was worth the effort. It just _had_ to work.

Replacing his glasses, he was surprised to see that clouded green eyes were watching him. They were still a little fuzzy with pain and injury, but the gaze that was silently assessing him and then the room around them was very familiar.

"Peter, do you know where you are?" he asked quietly, not wanting to wake Winston.

The eyes returned to him and Egon could almost see his friend trying to weigh the situation and his response. He'd seen Peter do that countless times with clients and strangers but it had been a long time since such caution had been directed at him.

"This isn't Steve playing a joke, is it." The words were slow with reluctance and fatigue.

Steve... Egon seemed to recall one of Peter's frat brothers had been called Steve. "No," he answered gently even though he knew it wasn't a question. "I'm afraid it's not a joke at all."

Peter nodded, then seemed to think better of that as he winced again. He brushed off Egon's immediate motion of concern. "So...I'm supposed to live here with...three of you, right?" Despite his condition, his defenses didn't give an inch.

Egon nodded. "This is your home. The doctor said perhaps it would help you to be in familiar circumstances to jog your memory."

Green eyes blinked at him. "Home." There was a note of disbelieving hope in his voice at the mention of that word. Egon felt his throat constrict a little in response. Peter considered for a moment. Then, "E-Egon, right?"

Egon couldn't help himself; he lay a hand on the other's shoulder. "Yes, Peter."

A smug grin curled the other's face. "Piece o'cake," he murmured, drifting off again.

Spengler watched the patient a little longer before silently getting up to go and seek out Ray. Peter didn't need watching any longer, and the physicist was no longer able to fend off memories that no one but he remembered any longer.

*****

The next few days were the most confusing of Peter's life. He was increasingly awake and even up and around some, and there was always at least one of his new friends at his side at all times. Well, not new exactly; there was something about them that felt right, a subconscious proof that the these three had meant something to him before and that all the assurances they gave him about his belonging there really were true.

Even if he hadn't felt anything, though, their every expression and action underlined how much he meant to these strangers. Ray's open concern and caring was etched in every fiber of the young man, too heartfelt to be faked. Winston always seemed to be watching him and to know exactly what Peter needed before he himself knew. And Egon...true, Egon showed very little emotion on the surface, but Peter soon realized to his shock that he could read every hidden glimmer in those intense blue eyes, every glance and shift in body language. The familiarity of this person who was in every other way a stranger didn't cease to amaze him, but even more striking was the message he read in the other, the same one he also felt constantly from the other two. They truly cared about him.

The thought terrified him. More than the face he saw in the mirror, even more than finally coaxing the truth out of Egon that his mother was gone.

People who cared also meant people who he should care about, and Venkman didn't think he had could handle any more of the pain that close relationships inevitably brought with them. He'd already had all he could take of disappointments and betrayals. Peter fully intended to enjoy life without putting himself out to that kind of hurt, and if that meant forgoing friends, hey, he didn't need them. As for Egon, Ray, and Winston, well... no one asked them to worry about him. They had to be overreacting, no one was really _that_ selfless.

And every instinct that whispered otherwise and traitorously yearned to accept that concern was ruthlessly stomped down. He couldn't afford it. But it was increasingly harder to pretend not to see the resulting hurt in his three companions' eyes.

*****

"So, when do I get the grand tour of this place?"

Ray's face lit up at the upbeat question as he set aside Peter's emptied breakfast tray. The psychologist hadn't been out of the bedroom since he'd returned home except for trips to the bathroom, and Stantz hoped with all his heart that this was a good sign. He studied his friend worriedly. "I'll take you now, Peter, but are you sure you're up to it?"

Venkman smiled. "As much as I love lying here and being waited on hand-and-foot, I think it's time I got a look at the rest of where I'm supposed to live, don't you?"

Ray was not always the most perceptive of people, but he knew his friends well. That Peter was scared was obvious, even behind the deliberate cheerfulness. Nor had the engineer missed the selected wording of "where I'm supposed to live." But he bit down pride at his friend's courage and outwardly played along with a willing smile. "Sure, Peter."

A robe was procured. Peter had been up some already in the bedroom, but his movements were still slow and Ray waited patiently for his friend to get ready before leading him out into the hall.

"You already know the bathroom's in there," he gestured to the right, "and that's Egon's lab's right through there. I'd show it to you except I think Egon's working on something important and we probably shouldn't bother him." Ray didn't add that Egon had looked utterly exhausted that morning at breakfast and had been encouraged by his friends to go have some time to himself that morning.

"Right. Don't want him to blow up the place, do we," Peter nodded wisely.

"Well, he does that sometimes anyway." Ray grinned at the uncertain look Venkman gave him and pretended not to hear the muttered, "I'm living with a bunch of mad scientists."

They'd already all noticed the psychologist's tension at anything beyond casual physical contact, so Ray was careful to try not to hover as they slowly made their way down the spiral stairs. Though he had a feeling Peter could see right through him. It was hard not to wonder if Peter still remembered subconsciously how to read his friends...

Ray swallowed a sigh and brightened as they reached the second floor. "Here's one of your favorite spots to hang out, especially if there's work to be done," he smiled mischievously, pointing out the TV nook. "You always loved–love putting your feet up and watching TV." His smile fell as he stumbled on the tense. Peter gave him a sideways glance but didn't say anything. Ray did his best to regain the light tone and quickly went on. "And there's the kitchen, only you never spent much time there, either, unless you were raiding the refrigerator."

Peter made a face. "Sounds like I was pretty good at freeloading," he observed wryly.

"Oh, no," Ray sincerely assured him, "You did as much as any of us, Peter, honest. You just...," he dimpled, "...didn't like chores very much."

"It's not nice to pick on a man when he's down, Stantz," Venkman shook his head with an expression of pure martyrdom. Ray had to keep from laughing in pleasure at the sheer normality of the response.

That was when Slimer floated out of the kitchen.

Venkman's eyes widened and he froze in astonishment. Slimer had no such restraints. With a happy cry of "Peeeter back!," he launched himself at the unprepared psychologist.

Ray groaned inside even as he moved to avert disaster. Slimer had been barred from the bedroom while Peter convalesced, but all he'd been told was that Venkman was sick. And they'd all neglected to give Peter even that much warning.    

With one long step, Ray stepped between the little ghost and Peter. "Slimer, no!" he said sharply.

Slimer splatted into his chest before he could stop himself, then bobbed up in confusion. "Peter still sick?" he asked plaintively.

"Yes, Slimer, Peter's still sick," Ray answered more kindly. "You have to lay off him for a little bit, okay?

The only person Slimer loved even more than Peter was Ray, and he nodded obediently. "Okay, okay, Ray." Casting a glance over Ray's shoulder he said sympathetically. "Peter get better. Guys help. Slimer go eat," and with that he floated cheerfully back into the kitchen.

Ray breathed a sigh of relief, then turned to find Peter had backed off uneasily and was watching both Ray and the retreating Slimer with wary eyes. "It's okay, Peter," he was quick to reassure. "That was only Slimer, and he's harmless. He just likes you a lot."

That only increased the skepticism in psychologist's pale face. "Likes me?" he squeaked, then grimaced and steadied his voice. "I don't think I like him. I thought you all busted ghosts, not kept them as pets."

Ray smiled involuntarily. "Only bad ones. And we don't keep any others besides Slimer, he's just sorta our mascot. You've always complained about him, Peter, but I think you really like him, too."

Peter's defensive stance slowly relaxed but the caution in his eyes didn't fade completely, Ray sadly saw. Venkman looked doubtfully at Ray's slimed suit. "Any other fun surprises like that left in this haunted house, Stantz?" he asked.

Ray's smile grew mischievous. "Only Janine."

*****

Peter and Janine eyed each other measuringly, Janine trying to hide her concern as she studied Venkman. "So you don't remember me at all?" she asked him but glanced at Ray.

"It is pretty hard to believe I'd forget a beautiful lady like you," Peter automatically answered.

Janine's eyes widened. "You really _have_ lost your memory!" Her eyes flew again to Ray in alarm, but he made a quick calming gesture. Her face became composed at once as she turned back to Peter. "I suppose I'll have to remind you then about that raise you promised me last week, too."

Ray could see the light of recognition in the green eyes of a kindred charmer and Peter's body untensed for the first time. This was a relationship he knew how to deal with. "Remind me again what it is you do that's worth a raise," the psychologist said smoothly, a trace of a smile playing on his lips.

Janine also seemed to relax at the familiar game. "Put up with you," she answered sweetly.

"For that privilege, you should be paying _me_."

Ray missed Janine's retort, his eyes suddenly fixed on Peter. Venkman was answering all the right things, being typical Peter, and yet there was something missing in his tone. It was as if the whole byplay was just a show, doing what he was expected to do. The engineer thought back to their college days, retrieving memories of Peter as a student. Yes, then, too, one of the things that Ray had come to realize was that so much of the psychology student's behavior was just bravado, a front playing up what the world expected of him. He'd done it with everyone for so long that it was nearly effortless, automatic. In time, as Peter had slowly learned to trust, his public image softened into a game rather than a survival method, with his friend invited to share in the joke.

All that was gone now. He could see Janine recognize it, too, that Peter was putting up for them the facade he usually kept up for strangers to see. What he hadn't seemed to realize yet was that walls only kept those outside from coming in but did nothing to stop those already inside.

His heart aching, Ray plastered on a smile and interrupted the sparring with an offer to finish the tour.

*****

Ten minutes later, Ray reluctantly left Peter in the living room at the psychologist's request. Both of them recognized the change in atmosphere, and the rest of the tour had been stilted and quick. Peter had studied the basement equipment and containment unit with an intensity that had surprised Ray, avoided his office altogether with an excuse of "later," and, upon introduction to Ecto-1, made a predictable crack about the appropriateness of riding in an old hearse. Winston, tinkering under the car, hadn't laughed, and Ray couldn't. No longer able to keep up the cheerfulness over the misery he felt, he'd beat a hasty, guilty retreat. Peter's eyes had followed him up the stairs.

Egon met him nearly at the top, almost passing him before noticing the anguished brown eyes. He grabbed an arm before the younger man could hurry past him. "Raymond, what's wrong?"

Ray shook his head helplessly. "Peter. Egon, he can't remember–what if he doesn't ever remember any of this?!" His eyes squeezed shut.

Egon's grip shifted to one of gentleness, matching his voice. "Don't forget, it's still Peter," he reminded the engineer without rebuke. "We haven't seen him like this for a while, but if we could teach him to trust us once, we can do it again." He knew his voice sounded more sure than he felt, but there were times when Ray believed such assurances simply because he so badly wanted to.

The auburn head nodded slowly, not wholly relieved but at least comforted. "I know, Egon, I just...wish he wasn't so alone." He blinked up at the blond.

Spengler simply nodded. He understood all too well. "I'll go talk to him."

Ray nodded again, then, with heavy steps, went into the bedroom and shut the door behind him.

Egon sighed, thinking for a long moment before he steeled himself and went down the stairs. The sight that greeted his eyes made him stop and silently hang back without making his presence known.

Venkman was in the living room, standing by the bookshelf, so engrossed in what he was looking at that he hadn't noticed the physicist's arrival. As Egon watched, Peter slowly drew a finger along the tops of several books on the shelf that contained his books, finally pausing at one. After a brief hesitation, he drew it out of the bookshelf and gently opened it to the front of the book.

Egon recognized the book immediately and his breath caught. He knew what inscription was in that book. He watched a minute longer, trying to read the mixture of expressions on the other man's face before he quietly stepped into the room. "That always was one of your favorites."

Peter nearly dropped the volume in surprise, his expression suddenly going blank and guarded. "I remember," he said shortly.

Egon winced inwardly at the mistrust in both the words and the body language, but he stepped further into the room, motioning at the book. "I gave you that set for Christmas our first year here. I couldn't believe it when I learned that you were a Tolkien fan," he allowed himself a shadow of a smile. One more of the unlikely similarities they shared.

Venkman blinked at him, something briefly flickering in his eyes. A memory? Egon wondered. Then Peter smiled at him, a smile that didn't touch his eyes and that hurt nearly as much as the wariness. "The man wrote some pretty good adventures," he said glibly. "I always loved that about his books."

Egon's voice was quiet. "You once told me that what you loved best was the loyalty portrayed in it, and Sam and Frodo's quest for the Truth." He still remembered clearly that late night talk when they'd started out talking about books and ended up discussing their lives and beliefs and dreams. It was one of the memories he treasured but that he alone seemed to have anymore.

Peter's face flushed and intense green eyes studied the physicist's face as they had countless times in the past few days, seeking familiarity, reassurance, something. When they slid away again, unsatisfied once more, they were disturbed and opaque. Venkman returned the book to its place without looking at Egon, and Spengler suddenly realized that, for the first time, the psychologist had proof of their shared past in something Egon could not have known, had he not once had Peter's trust. And the younger man didn't know what to do with that realization.

Wishing badly he could take away some of that turmoil from the green eyes, Egon could only watch as Peter fumbled an excuse and, still avoiding his eyes, brushed past him and out of the room.   Egon shivered suddenly and folded into one of the easy chairs. Belatedly, it registered that for once Peter hadn't come up with a clever brush-off. Somehow, it didn't feel like progress.

*****

The bedroom had been mercifully empty when Peter sought sanctuary in it, though Ray's bed did look slightly rumpled. Peter didn't care. Confused and shaken and not wanting to think, he'd curled up in his own bed and fallen into deep, dreamless sleep.

When he finally stirred and rose back to wakefulness, the room was still abandoned but dark. Feeling better than he had in some time and determined not to think about the past few days for a while, Peter stretched lazily and contemplated what to do next. His stomach rumbled in reminder, and Venkman lazily dug his robe out from under the bed again to venture out in search for food.

He was almost at the bottom of the stairs when he heard the voices, muted and somber. They seemed to be coming from the kitchen, and he curiously tiptoed down the last few steps and over to the doorway to listen in.

"He seems to be remembering a little. I am sure looking at his belongings stirred some sort of memory." Egon's voice, flat and wearier than Peter'd heard it before. _You really think so?_ Peter wondered. There had been something vague, just like when he'd looked at the equipment, but it had faded away too quickly.

"You think he's remembering?" Ray's excited voice responded. Peter could almost see his face light up. _Geez, Ray..._

"I don't know..." Egon trailed off and Venkman found himself holding his breath as he waited to hear what the physicist would say. "It seems sometimes almost as if he's...frightened of retrieving the past." Peter's hands curled into fists. _Do you really think I_ want _to be this way?_   

"You don't mean he wants to–" Winston echoed his thoughts.

"No," Egon hastily cut in. "It's just that it took some time for Peter to adjust to being able to trust in friends.   Now he feels he has to do it overnight, because several strangers are telling him to. He would like us to be right, but the idea is challenging every conception he's had. It would be frightening for anyone." Peter was trying not to think through what Egon had said even though it struck a chord inside him. _"He'd like us to be right..." When'd you get to be a psychologist, Spengler?_ Venkman had thought he'd buried the longing deeper than even he could find it.

There was silence for a minute. Then Winston spoke up again. "Well, if you're saying Pete really was just like this in college, then even if he doesn't remember, he can learn again like he did before, can't he?"

"Theoretically," Egon sighed. The lost tone of his voice was so at odds with the collected image Peter had of the physicist that he could hardly place the voice as the blond's. "But that's assuming he's willing to make the effort a second time. And that we can wait years, if necessary, for him to find his trust again. It...will not be easy." _I guess this is no picnic for you guys, either, huh?_ Peter slowly allowed.

"But you said he was remembering, didn't you?" Ray sounded desperate. "I mean, he might wake up tomorrow and have it all back, right, Egon?"

There was a pause, and Winston was finally the one who answered. Peter frowned at that. "Maybe, Ray. We just don't know." Why _does it–do_ I _–matter so much to you guys?!_ Peter bit back his frustration.

Ray's response, when it came, was shaky and painful but no less determined. "Okay. Even if it does take...years, Peter's worth it. We _can't_ give up."

Two other voices immediately chorused agreement, then the tinkling of spoons stirring aimlessly in mugs was the only sound as each man lapsed into his own thoughts.

_Worth it...me?_ Peter didn't understand. Longing more than ever to be included and utterly bewildered at the strange feeling, he silently crept back upstairs.   He was in his bed feigning sleep by the time Winston and Ray came upstairs to retire, buried under the covers so that no one would see if one of the tears got away.

*****

Egon paused with his hand on the gate. He hadn't been in Venkman's office since some time before Peter had...changed, and it felt strange to go in now. He couldn't resist, though, and the others would understand; he'd seen Winston thoughtfully looking over Peter's books in the living room and Ray going through albums of their old cases. Nevertheless, he glanced around to make sure he wasn't observed before swinging the gate aside and going in.

They each had their own space in the firehall, and this one was stamped all over with the psychologist's unique touch. Egon stood for a minute and just absorbed the presence of his old friend. Then, slowly, he ventured into the office area, reliving each memory he came across.

One bookcase held psychology books, already getting dusty in the week they hadn't been touched. Egon idly pulled one out to read the name scrawled in the inside cover. He hadn't realized how many of them there were before, yet he knew that Peter had read each one. Venkman wasn't one for empty pretenses, not where his work was concerned. And his clinical skills coupled with the caring heart he kept hidden made him the best psychologist Spengler had ever met. Egon sighed as he replaced the book and moved on.

The filing cabinet was another unexpected aspect of his friend, he thought fondly. With all his talk about money and the importance he placed on it, Peter had surprised them all in having a real knack with the bookkeeping, managing somehow to usually keep them in the black despite the dry spells and considerable expenses of their job. One more thing they'd always relied on Peter for and in which he'd never let them down.... Egon refused to even speculate on who would be doing the bookkeeping now and, without a further look at the records, kept going.

The low-slung case behind the psychologist's desk held his journals, most of them well-thumbed. Peter never made a big production of keeping current in his field's studies, but Egon had seen too many creased and underlined journal to have any delusions there. It had taken some time, too, before Peter had trusted him enough to show him the articles that he himself had published, though the physicist suspected that even he had not seen all of Peter's work. He had long ago learned that there were just some things Peter was not comfortable bragging about, usually the very things about which he would've had a right to do so.

The knickknacks on the shelf made the blond smile. They were everywhere, the things that fascinated his friend. The swaying little hula doll lamp that Egon had picked up for Venkman at a physics conference in Hawaii and that Peter had gleefully reported had nothing on under the grass skirt. The rat skull Peter had found God-knew-where and then kept, declaring it reminded him of Walter Peck. The ugly little paperweight Ray had given his new friend with the best of intentions their first Christmas, and which, even in his most anti-Christmas moods, the psychologist had never failed to display in a place of honor ever since. Egon couldn't look anywhere in the room and not feel his friend. And be more acutely aware of the team's loss.

Shakily, he sank down at the desk. Would memories always ache like this or would the four of them make enough new ones to take their place? Peter had already relaxed some around them, beginning to accept their place in his life and vice versa, but there were still many walls around him and Egon knew from experience that it would take a long time before they were gone, before the trust he'd come to rely on would be fully extended to all three of them once more. A lot of rebuilding to do.

He sighed heavily as he started to rise from the chair, when his eyes suddenly fell on the magazine on the desk. Funny, he couldn't remember Peter receiving _The New England Journal of Medicine_ ; it contained only occasional psychiatric articles. Curious, he studied the table of contents to see what had caught Peter's eye.

It was the third one down. Egon blinked in surprise at seeing the byline. Peter had never mentioned submitting the piece, but that was not so unusual; he rarely did so until it was published and a done deal. But surely he would've shared such a prestigious honor once....

Egon suddenly recalled the evening a week earlier, before Peter had gone out and not come back. He'd wanted to show his friends something before he left, coming to Egon first, the pleasure in his voice palpable. And none of them had been able to take the time to listen and share his pleasure. Now the Peter Venkman who'd written that article was gone, and it was possible that they never would get the chance to make it up to him.

For the first time since his Peter had disappeared, Egon took off his glasses and buried his face in his hands to cry for his lost friend.

*****

How he ended up in the lab, he wasn't sure. Peter knew he didn't belong there, probably never had, and from what he'd been told it was pretty much the two scientists' domain. And yet somehow he gravitated there, not ready to face the ghosts in his own office but at the same time wanting to learn more about his companions.

The firehouse was unusually quiet, the other three Ghostbusters having gone out for their first "bust" since Peter had arrived. He could see the reluctance in their faces to leave, but the ghost was putting people at risk and Venkman had agreed that it was important they go. There was a curious unease in him at their departure, though, one he suspected had more cause than just being left alone. He didn't care for the too-quiet house, but a real worry nagged at him as if he were afraid for the others. _You don't even know them!_ he scoffed at himself. But he must've once....

He shrugged off the idea. The guys were good people, he could see that, and probably great to work with and spend time with. But Peter Venkman was a loner at heart and didn't need anyone. He never had.

_So what are you doing in Egon's lab?_ He pushed the incongruity of the thought away. After all, he had to know the people he lived with a little bit, didn't he? He couldn't wholly shake the memory of the despair in the scientist's voice the night before, either. Despite himself, Peter had to know more about the man.

The room was cluttered with everything from ordinary lab equipment to elaborate machines that Venkman didn't remotely recognize. _Did I ever know what they were for?_ They weren't the least bit familiar. _Probably,_ he decided, _if Egon had any say in the matter._ Even his professors at school had never loved to lecture as much as the physicist did. Peter would've long gotten tired of it already if he hadn't detected a note of...something in Spengler's tone that spoke of an old ritual between them. And so he played along.

On a table next to the machinery were incubators and a wide assortment of petri dishes and cups and bowls, all holding various forms of what looked to be mold. Peter wrinkled his nose. _Looks like our 'fridge at school._ Except he didn't think the fastidious scientist would let things go to pot in his lab. Probably grew it himself, Peter decided and, not particularly wanting to follow that thought, went on.

The center table seemed a desk of sorts, with a computer and reams of paper with careful writing covering them. _Typical Egon,_ the automatic reaction momentarily surprising him. It was all Greek to Peter and his attention quickly moved to the bookcases behind the desk and its countless volumes on the occult, spell books, and ancient tomes he couldn't even read. _Must be Ray's._ A human skull sat on top of the bookcase, he noted with distaste, and next to it–he reached up to smooth it out–a Toronto Bluejays cap. Venkman frowned at that. Spengler was a sports fan? He wasn't sure what to make of that.

His eyes trailed back over the desk, then to a closed cabinet that stood next to it. He hesitated for a moment before giving the door an experimental tug. Not locked. Peter grinned to himself; hadn't these boys learned anything in school? Opening it, he idly glanced through the piles of papers that all seemed to have schematics and computations covering them. Two shelves were filled with the printouts and notes, and he impatiently pushed them aside. _Doesn't this guy have a life at all?_ Surely if they'd lived together as long as he'd been told, something of Peter would've rubbed off on the stiff physicist...

A single drawer was left, and it had only two contents. He almost skipped the magazine altogether upon seeing it was a medical journal, until his own name caught his eye. _I_ am _famous!_ he stared at it in surprise. But why was the magazine here, carefully tucked away under everything in Spengler's cabinet? Peter set the question aside to mull over later and reached in again for the pile that had been sitting on top of the journal.

The photos he picked up and glanced through curiously. Several were of a young blond boy in glasses who couldn't have been more than eight, yet held himself with a formality Venkman recognized in Spengler now. It was the same severity as the unsmiling father standing next to the boy. _Your old man forced ya into it, huh?_ he thought with some sympathy. He knew all about fathers and sons. The mother looked softer, kinder, suddenly reminding Peter of the way Egon had been unobtrusively watching him. The thought made him oddly uncomfortable and he quickly flipped past the family photos.

They were followed by several of a much older Spengler, roughly in his late teens or early twenties. The slightly rounder auburn-haired man next to him was obviously a college-age Ray, though Venkman was surprised to see the timid posture of the younger man. Peter had quickly realized there was a streak of insecurity in the engineer, but obviously that had been much worse once. He fleetingly wondered what made the kid change.

The third person was more familiar than the old stranger he saw with shock in the mirror now. Twentysomething Peter Venkman stood with his arm slung around Egon's shoulder, green eyes lit with pleasure. The brunet studied his likeness. He looked...happy. Not just having a good time like in a lot of the frat yearbook photos, but truly content. And the apparent cause of his pleasure was the other two men in the photo.

Again, memories teased him, vague and distant. He hadn't told anyone, but they were increasing: feelings of familiarity, of déja vu, of similar past experiences. He knew where things were without being told, how some of the equipment worked, even things about the guys. Most disturbing of all was the way he could read the three men, what they felt and even why. The pysch degree kicking in, he supposed. But the thought bothered him more than he was willing to admit.

Peter sat back on his heels to think. The three Ghostbusters were nice enough but seemed rather a dull lot on the surface. Venkman wasn't always sure what had drawn him to them in the first place. He couldn't forget the worry and care that he felt from them, though, the concern he'd overheard them express, the love they showed him even when he wasn't being very loveable. A real home and friends–was it possible? A week ago he wouldn't have thought so, but he wasn't so sure anymore. The few times he was honest with himself, he had to admit that there was little he wouldn't give for a chance to, just once, be wrong about his suspicions.

The slam of a door downstairs and the sound of a car pulling in returned him to the present with a jerk. The guys were home. Inexplicable foreboding filled him at the thought, and he quickly put everything away and shut the cabinet, then hurried downstairs.

Winston was already out of the car and had circled around to open Ray's door. The younger man was easing out just as Peter got there, and it wasn't hard to spot the cautious movements or the pallor of the engineer's face.

"What happened?" Peter demanded.

Egon, sliding out after Ray to take him by the arm, looked up in surprise at Venkman's tone. He answered evenly, "The entity was a particularly malicious one. It seemed more interested in hurting people than in escaping entrapment, and it knocked an empty barrel on Ray before we could stop it."

Peter had always had a soft spot for the hurting, and the kid wasn't hard to be concerned about, but he was surprised at the intensity of his anger at the ghost and his concern for Ray. "Is he okay?" Everything was coming out more sharply than he intended but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

He could see Egon's awareness of that, as well as the worry in the blue eyes as they turned to look at Stantz. "He's been shaken and has bruised some ribs, but the doctor didn't feel it was necessary for him to stay in the hospital."

"I'm okay, Peter, really, I'm just tired," Ray assured him earnestly, also watching Peter more intently than Venkman was used to.

Suddenly he felt very exposed. "Well, uh, you should probably go to bed then," he dropped his eyes. More quietly, he added, "I'm glad you're okay, Ray," then turned and beat a hasty retreat to the closest refuge, his office. Disappearing behind the filing cabinets, he heard the awkward silence left in his wake finally dissipate as Winston and Egon led Ray upstairs over his protests that he was okay.

In the privacy of his office, Peter slid down the back of the cabinets onto the floor. _What the heck happened there?!_ The inexplicably strong emotions lingered, thoroughly disorienting him. _Ray's fine; bumps and bruises probably come with this job. Besides,_ he angrily argued with himself, _what's he to you?_

That was the question. This wasn't the reaction of a concerned fellow human being or even a worried co-worker; this was the pain of fearing for one you loved. A _friend_.

Tears burned his eyes at the thought and he angrily dashed them away. There was no such thing. People weren't reliable enough for that, and those that tried it just got hurt for their efforts. He _knew_ that. And yet, he wished...he wished...

The vague memories that hung just out of range drifted a little closer, and he caught snatches of some of them, of previous scares. The dread and misery came through easily, and yet they were accompanied by something else, too, support and shared solace. Unlike in his childhood, he hadn't had to go through the hard times alone. And when everything was okay again, there was a joy he'd never known, as if everything he'd ever wanted had been suddenly given to him. It alone made all the pain worthwhile.

The déja vu faded, leaving Peter shaken. _Is it possible that are some things worth that risk?_ He'd never thought so before, but he seemed to have found it once. Everything he'd ever wanted...

Venkman wearily pulled himself to his feet. He had to find Egon and ask him.

*****

Winston finished tucking in the already sleeping engineer, not being able to help a fond smile at the sight of Ray contentedly curled up in bed, Mr. Stay Puft clutched tightly in his arms. The world needed people like Ray Stantz, he thought anew, if only to keep a little of its innocence.

Another presence drew his eyes to the door, and he saw Peter peering inside, the ghost of a similar smile on his face as he watched Ray sleep. Noticing Winston's gaze, he sobered, then reluctantly obeyed as Winston waved him in and pulled up another chair.

"You okay?" He studied the psychologist.

Peter shrugged, apparently as much of an answer as he was willing to give. "How 'bout Ray?" he whispered back, nodding at the sleeper.

Winston grinned. "Ray'll be all right, he just got a little bruised. Happens to all of us every once in a while." He watched closely as Peter absently nodded, knowing that wasn't all that was on the psychologist's mind.

Silence. Then, hesitantly, "Where's Egon?"       

Zeddemore bit back a sigh. Egon was rivaled only by Peter for hovering when one of them was hurt or ill, and his absence now was obvious. But the physicist knew Ray wasn't seriously hurt and had gone into hiding almost as soon as the younger man was settled. "Probably tinkering in his lab. He does that sometimes when things get kinda overwhelming." He could tell Peter knew exactly what "overwhelming" meant.

Peter chewed his lip. "I don't get it, Winston," he finally admitted, discomfited enough not to meet the other man's eyes. "I mean, I never hung out with his group at school, and I'm pretty sure he was never into frat life. How'd he and I ever get to be friends?"

Zeddemore blinked in surprise at the honest words. But then, maybe it was easier for Peter to talk to him than to those who watched him with such desperate, badly hidden hope. Winston answered slowly, "The way I've heard it, Pete, you two took some parapsychology classes together and found out you were on the same wavelength about a lot of stuff. I think you two just got curious about each other."

Venkman digested that. "It must be pretty hard on him for me not to remember any of that," he finally said quietly.

"It's hard on _all_ of us, bro," Winston corrected grimly. "Ray probably shows it the most, and I haven't known you as long so it's a little easier on me. But for Egon, it's like he's lost his best friend. I guess seeing you makes it even tougher."

"Maybe I should split–"

"Uh-uh. Bad idea," Winston firmly cut him off. "Then he'd really be losing you." He pretended not to notice the flash of relief in Peter's eyes. Apparently, the feeling was more mutual than the psychologist was ready to admit. "Just be patient with him, Pete. You're still the same guy who became his friend back at Columbia, you're both just gonna have to do some adjusting to the way things are now." The eldest Ghostbuster leaned forward intently. "I'd give it a try if I were you, Pete. Not everybody's lucky enough to have ready-made friends waiting for him."

Peter grinned lopsidedly at him. "You sure I'm the psychologist of the group, Zeddemore?"

"That you are, m'man, but I've been around you boys long enough to figure a few things out myself," Winston's eyes glinted with humor.

Peter nodded, his face thoughtful. At least Winston had been able to give him something to think about. Pete's willingness to listen–and talk–showed more progress than any of his friends dared to hope for before. And perhaps it was wishful thinking, but he thought he'd seen a glimmer of recollection in Venkman's eyes when Winston had talked about Columbia. Yes, Zeddemore thought with satisfaction, if everyone could just manage to get through this in one piece, it just possibly would work out all right.

Peter was soon in bed and apparently asleep, and Winston followed his lead shortly after. He was acutely aware, though, that it was a long time before Egon crept in to join them.

*****

"Are you sure you're up for this, Peter?" Ray worriedly asked him for the third time as he helped his friend suit up for the early morning call.

"Yes, Ray," Peter patiently answered. "You and Winston have explained how all the equipment works and I think the sooner I get my feet wet, the better. What about you? You're the one who played catch with that nasty ghost yesterday."

"Oh, I'm okay," Ray was quick to brush off the concern. Peter looked over his head at Winston shaking his head in resignation, then turned back to study Stantz more closely. Apparently the kid had pulled stuff like this before. But he looked fine to Peter, only moving a little more slowly than usual, and Egon hadn't said no. Then again, Egon hadn't said much of anything that morning. Peter sighed. He almost wished he could remember his psychology training just so he could work out some of the undercurrents of this group.

Janine was also watching Egon with concern, he noticed, more concern than she seemed to have for Ray. That was interesting. He'd have to explore that one a little bit later. But for now, he turned his attention back to dressing in the jumpsuit that bore his name and hefting the pack that felt strangely familiar. Even without Ray and Winston's help, he had a feeling he would've known exactly what to do with the equipment when the time came.

He noticed abruptly that everyone seemed to be covertly watching him, a bit uneasy. _Don't trust me to watch your backs like this, huh?_ he thought automatically, then frowned. No, that wasn't fair, they were just worried about him being at risk in unfamiliar territory. He supposed if he were in their shoes, he'd worry, too. He chose a fairly outrageous grin, one that he knew showed them he understood, and cheerfully asked, "So, are we gonna go get 'em, or do we wait for them to come here?"

Everyone unbent a little, Ray and Winston grinning back at him and even Egon nodding thoughtfully. Then they all piled into the car, Winston driving, with Ray beside him and Peter in the back with Egon by default. At least, so he thought.   Janine waved them good-bye as, Venkman uncomfortably noted, did Slimer. He'd have to make an effort to get used to that spud someday. Maybe.

Peter sat back in the seat to look at the partly familiar city go by, glancing once at his fellow passenger to see Egon watching him. "What's the matter, Egon, did I grow horns or something?" he asked, unable to keep the slightest edge out of his voice. He still didn't like being watched and studied, no matter how well-intentioned.

"Peter, are you sure you're ready for this?" Egon asked him seriously in turn. Venkman knew he didn't mean physical preparation.

The instinct was very strong to blow off the concern with a flip remark. He was learning–possibly–that these guys were perhaps different, at least enough to give them the benefit of the doubt, which was more than Peter had ever done for anyone before. But he needed a lot more proof than the stories he'd been told or the old clippings and video bits Ray had showed him before he would bare his soul to anyone.

Still, there was an open need in Egon that he just couldn't refuse. "No," he finally answered. "I'm not sure. But that's kinda the point, Egon, isn't it? If I don't try, I'll never know for sure."

The physicist seemed grateful for the answer, his expression softening at the honest response. "Perhaps it would help if you simply watched at first, unless we need your help," he offered tentatively.

Peter considered, nodded. "Okay. But only if you guys can handle it and you aren't in trouble."

Egon nodded in return, understanding completely, to Peter's secret surprise. He couldn't figure out if that ease with the unspoken thrilled him or scared him. But the peace they'd made felt good, and for the first time in a long time, Peter really relaxed. He leaned back to wonder with curiosity what the bust would bring.

*****

What it brought was the ugliest...thing he'd ever seen. Nearly fluorescent yellow and several feet tall and wide, it flitted around with an ease completely out of place with its size. Peter had no experience with such beings, but he could almost swear it was chortling with glee as it evaded the three men's beams and dove around in the air above the loading dock.

It didn't appear particularly harmful, though, which was why Peter was content to sit on Ecto's back bumper in his pack and simply watch. Actually, it was almost fun. He laughed as a ghost swept close to Winston's head, leaving a coating of slime behind. "Hey, Zeddemore, I always wondered how you'd look as a blond!"

"Just say the word, Pete, and you can get a piece of this, too," Winston called back good-naturedly.

"Not me," Peter protested, "I wouldn't want to ruin your fun." His smile lost some of its teasing as Ray flashed him a happy look, eyes alight with excitement. The kid really did think it was fun, he mused. He hadn't even known before that there were people like Ray around who found joy in everything they did. That had been Venkman's loss.

Before he got too mushy, Peter switched his focus to the tall blond over to his extreme left. Egon's attention was completely taken with trying to read the meter he held in one hand and control the thrower with the other, to the point that he hadn't even seemed to notice that his glasses had slid down his nose. Peter's hand moved of its own volition as if to push the glasses back up as he...as he had done so often before? Peter frowned. Where had that come from?

"Watch out, Egon!"

Ray's cry drew his attention back immediately to the scene in front of him, just in time to see the yellow thing dive-bomb Spengler. The physicist noticed it a moment too late, his step to the side not avoiding a glancing blow that knocked him backwards off his feet. Except that he was at the edge of the platform and there was nothing behind him to fall back on. He disappeared over the edge with an aborted cry of surprise.

"EGON!" Peter screeched, vaulting off Ecto and over to the edge of the dock in seconds. Leaning over the rim, he could see the blond sprawled on the ground about fifteen feet below, unmoving. Ray was beside him a moment later, giving an unhappy moan at the sight. Peter's blood chilled. His best friend was–

"Yo, guys, heads up!" Winston's call from behind him penetrated the fury of emotions, and Peter glanced back to see the yellow gooper loop up and then around back toward them, this time headed straight for Ray.

It wasn't instinct, it was deliberate thought. Peter powered up the pack and pulled the thrower in one smooth, practiced motion. With the ghost a second away from Ray, who was only just beginning to turn, Peter fired. His aim was steady even though his thoughts weren't.

The beam hit the gooper straight on, freezing it for a moment. That moment was all it took as, first Winston's, then Ray's streams joined his to keep the entity pinned. Winston freed one hand to toss a trap underneath the struggling ghost. "Trap out," he hollered, stomping it open. Ten seconds later, the ghost was gone.

There was a moment of disbelieving silence, then all three moved at once. Peter was tossing his pack off even as he swung off the dock onto the ladder that led to the ground, Ray immediately following him. Peter slid down several rungs before jumping the rest of the way.

"Egon." His hands were steadier than his voice as he checked breathing and pulse, then pulled up an eyelid to test pupil response. The results made the tension inside him unravel all at once, leaving him dizzy with relief. A quick smile to Ray relieved some of the worry in the younger man's face, too, then Peter quickly moved down to feel down each limb for broken bones as Ray carefully picked up Egon's hand.

His actions were sliding into automatic as his mind speeded up. Egon was alive, they'd been lucky yet again. Nexa, Tolay, the fall off the World Trade Center, all the near misses and close calls... The fog of confusion was dissolving, impressions and recollections clearing as though they'd always been there, as they apparently had. Years of friendship and memories–the flood of returning emotion was nearly overpowering. How could he have forgotten how much his friends meant to him?   

"Do we need an ambulance?" came Winston's voice from the dock above.

_Egon..._ Peter couldn't find anything obviously broken, but Egon was still unresponsive. They weren't out of the woods yet. "Yes," he called back with effort.

"No." Egon's deep voice behind him made Peter jerk in disbelief. The leg under his hands stirred as the physicist slowly, painfully pushed himself up on one elbow.

"Be careful, Egon, you might've hurt yourself," Ray protested, urging his friend back down.

Egon patted the engineer's hand. "I'm fine, Ray. I was merely stunned by the fall, though I suspect I'll have an impressive array of bruises...Peter?" his voice became concerned as he looked at the psychologist on his other side. He pushed himself completely upright and reached out for Venkman's arm. "Peter, are you all right?"

All right? Was he... Without a word, he threw himself at Egon, wrapping the startled physicist in a constricting embrace. "Egon..."

After a second's surprise, Egon responded in kind, holding him nearly as tightly. Peter knew he should explain, at least try to tell them, but for the moment all he wanted to do was hold on and restore a little bit of his sanity. Egon seemed to know, not questioning or hurrying, just sitting there and drawing one hand up and down his back. _Typical Egon,_ he almost laughed, except he would've choked on it.

"Peter?" Ray's worried voice finally came.

Peter drew back a little, enough to be able to look at his hovering friend. Ray's face was blurry, and Peter quickly rubbed at his too-full eyes to clear them. "I'm okay, Ray," he said quickly, too soggily. He swallowed. "I'm really okay."

Egon pulled away to see his face, and the blue eyes warmed as they studied him. "Peter?"

Peter nodded. "It's back, Spengs, all of it. Some of it was coming back already, but then seeing you...it was like a curtain going up...I'm sorry," he buried his face back in the blue jumpsuit. "I don't know how I could forget you guys."

"You didn't really," Egon's remarkably steady voice soothed his jangled emotions even though he could feel the hands on his back clench. "Something in you still knew us even when you couldn't remember. A complete stranger wouldn't have reacted as you did to our worry or–"

"–or to Ray getting hurt–" Winston's voice came from behind him as another hand settled on his neck.

"–or to Egon falling," Ray finished, his voice a little wobbly, too, as he lay a hand on Peter's shoulder.  

"You simply weren't ready yet. The mind sometimes works in strange ways. Especially when it's already as deranged as yours is." Egon stilled, waiting.

There was a pause, then Peter muttered petulantly, "You just don't know genius when you see it."

The other three laughed. Everything was okay. The guys understood, _really_ understood, and Peter wasn't even embarrassed–well, not much–about his lapse of control. After all, he was among friends.

It was some time before they managed to let go of each other long enough to make it back to the car and go home.

*****

Peter stood alone in the quiet living room, looking at the books on the shelf in front of him. Under two shelves of Winston's Christies and Fletchers were his own beloved tattered westerns from his childhood, followed by several beautifully bound books. Tolkien's _Lord of the Rings_ series. Not the first gift Egon had ever given him, but special because it had been the first Christmas they'd had in the firehouse, as Ghostbusters, with Winston. It was also one of the first Christmases he'd actually somewhat enjoyed. And Egon, as usual, knew that's import and commemorated the occasion with a present that suited it. A simple gift, but one of the most precious things Peter had ever owned. Another memory he'd almost lost...

"Reminiscing?"

The dry voice from the bottom of the stairs startled him, and Peter turned to find Egon watching him with a slight smile.

"Savoring," Peter quietly amended, his gaze returning to the books. He was suddenly reminded him of the similar scene a few days before and shook his head at the thought. "I can't believe I forgot all this," he murmured, glancing around the room, eyes settling on the blond.

"Not for long," Egon returned mildly. He stepped into the room. "When you had to remember, you did."

"Which tells you something right there," Peter retorted. His face clouded as he crossed to the corner of the room and flopped into one of the chairs. "Psychosomatic amnesia. Almost like I didn't want to remember, like you said that night in the kitchen–" He abruptly shut up.

Egon's gaze sharpened. "You heard that?" he asked. Peter's guilty silence was answer enough. Egon sighed and sat down across from Venkman. "We were... rather confused, too, and more than a little worried. And you of all people should know that a head injury is hardly psychosomatic." He paused, then held out a hand to Peter.

The psychologist hadn't noticed until then that Spengler was holding something, and he leaned forward to see what it was. _The New England Journal of Medicine._ He let out a brief laugh. "Almost forgot about that."

"Is this what you were trying to show us that afternoon before you left for Gabrielle's?" Egon asked quietly.

A single embarrassed nod.

"I'm sorry, I wish we'd paid more attention." Peter shrugged self-consciously. Egon hesitated. "I'm no psychologist," he slowly began again, "but I know you, Peter. I can imagine how you felt. Gabrielle also said that your evening together had not gone very smoothly. You must have felt...rather alone when you left that night to come home. I wonder if that mood didn't influence your state of mind after you were injured."

Peter's head had slowly come up as he listened, interested in spite of himself. "So I flash back to college, before I got to know you or Ray, because I felt _lonely_?" he said doubtfully.

"Peter, you received a severe blow to the head and were mildly concussed. It was not by choice. Physical injury to the brain can cause all sorts of unexpected and unusual effects, can't it?"

Venkman shook his head, not willing to let it go so easily. "Yeah, and what you say makes sense, except that I remembered when I _wanted_ to, not when I got better."

"Don't forget what made you remember, Peter," Egon gently admonished, leaning forward. "You _had_ been injured, but your recovery depended both on the physical and the emotional. The idea of trust and close friendship was a frightening one that you weren't ready for at first. But you came out of it when you needed to, just as you've always done what you've needed, when you were needed."

The psychologist's eyes were back on the floor, this time in discomfiture. "Heck of a time to flash back to," he mumbled.

"Don't forget, Ray and I were much different then, too. We've all changed for the better since then, I daresay, and you were a great part of that, Peter." Egon smiled. "I'd nearly forgotten how stubborn you were back then. Not that you've improved much now. But I suppose it's better than if you'd regressed back to infancy; I'm not sure any of us would have been prepared for that."

Peter immediately straightened. "Yeah, I think you doing that once was enough for a lifetime," he retorted.

Spengler's cheeks went pink. "I don't recall that incident," he said with as much dignity as he could muster. His eyes shone with delight, though.

"No fair, Spengs, amnesia excuse's getting old," Peter grinned, his expression full of mischievous contentment. "Find your own."

A few minutes later, Winston and Ray showed up too to find out what was so funny as laughter from the living room rang through the firehouse.

The End


End file.
